Outlier_Spellslingers Academy of Magic

by Annabel Chase

  The instructor looked slightly unnerved. “Don’t be absurd. I make the rules here.” She glanced at the other students, but no one moved.

  “You said you’re familiar with my grandmother’s story.” I injected a little crazy into my gaze and it seemed to have the desired effect.

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  I produced my wand and began to twirl it between my fingers. “Then surely you’re familiar with her insanity gene, the one that skips a generation.”

  Her face paled. “I don’t believe I am.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to get up close and personal with that part of me,” I said, and lifted the bottle. “I won’t force you, of course, but I’m going to ask nicely one more time.”

  Her hand shook as she reached out and took the bottle. She pressed the opening to her lips and drank until there was nothing left.

  “How long until it takes effect?” I asked.

  “Almost immediate,” Miss Puddleduck replied, her eyelids droopy.

  “You seem a little tired,” I said. “Maybe your measurements weren’t as precise as they should’ve been?”

  “I hope they eject your pompous bottom from this academy,” she spat, “and that you end up removed from proper society like your grandmother.”

  “I think it’s working!” I tucked away my wand. “Where’s Professor Fraser?” I asked in a low, firm voice.

  She blinked. “Fraser?”

  “Yes, Grantham Fraser. Where are you hiding him?”

  “Nowhere. I don’t have a clue where he is. I assume one of his shady side deals finally caught up to him.”

  I examined her closely. “What lengths would you be willing to go to for this position?”

  “I’d sleep with Professor Langley, but really I’d do that anyway. He’s such a catch.”

  Everyone groaned. Okay, I established that Miss Puddleduck was not our culprit, and now I really, really hoped she wasn’t our substitute for very long because I’d definitely pissed her off.

  “What happens when the effect of the potion wears off?” I asked. “Will you remember any of this?”

  “Every word,” Miss Puddleduck said. “And my first port of call after class will be to inquire as to how detention works at the academy.”

  Oops. Well, at least I had a heads up. “This has been a really informative lesson,” I said. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us today.”

  “A hex upon your house,” Miss Puddleduck said.

  I returned to my seat to gather my belongings. “Right back at you.”

  Fraser’s neighborhood was modest yet well maintained. The houses were small ranch-style homes on one-acre plots. Not a lot in the way of flowers and trees, but the lawns were meticulously kept and the sidewalks were clean. I'd been in my share of dark alleys as a young girl in search of my grandmother. Even stripped of her magic, my grandmother’s addiction never fully left her and it had brought me to places my young eyes never should have witnessed. Compared with those rough neighborhoods, Grantham Fraser's neighborhood was an absolute delight.

  “There it is,” Peter said, pointing. “The one with the small statue of Bacchus.”

  I squinted in search of the statue and finally located it at the end of the walkway by the front step. “How could you see that?” I asked, parking the truck.

  “I didn't have to see it,” Peter replied. “I know it's there because I bought it for him for his birthday three years ago.” He hesitated. “Okay, maybe bought is overstating it slightly.”

  “You stole it?' I asked, appalled.

  He extended a hand. “Hi, Peter Zilla, smuggler-at-large. Maybe we haven't met.”

  I knocked his hand away and exited the car. “I overheard Warden Armitage tell the chancellor that there's a protective ward on the property now.” It had been the one upside to my verbal thrashing by Chancellor Tilkin after the stunt I pulled in Advanced Potions. “They’re hoping to catch anyone going in and out that might know something about his whereabouts.”

  “So the wardens are involved now?” he queried.

  “It was only a matter of time,” I said. “Especially given Fraser’s connection to the academy. I also heard them discussing possible political motivations.”

  “So what's your plan, princess? Are you capable of breaking a ward or is that a year three skill that you haven’t mastered yet?”

  I shot him a haughty look. “My friend Bryn is the expert ward breaker. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've brought her along instead of you.”

  He flashed a grin. “I have that effect on a lot of women. One look at me and logic goes out the window.”

  I stifled a groan. “You’re the one who breaks into places for a living. How do you typically do it?”

  He joined me at the edge of the property line. “First of all, I don't break into places for a living. I smuggle items in and out.”

  “What's the difference? If you have to get in and out of somewhere with an object that doesn’t belong to you, how is that not breaking into places for a living?”

  Peter opened his mouth to respond and seemed to quickly realize he had no rebuttal. “Stop making sense, woman. It hurts my head. The way I usually get around a ward is by shifting into an animal that the spell won't detect.”

  “What kind of animal is that?”

  “Depends on the job,” Peter replied. He paced the length of the property line, surveying the area. “I’m inclined to go with an ant on this one.”

  “How does it work? You march in there as an ant and then turn back into Peter inside?”

  He nodded. “And then back into an ant to leave so that the ward hasn’t been breached.”

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “What are your skills, Ms. Future Sentry of the South?” Peter asked. “Don't you know some fancy spell that can turn you into an insect?”

  “There’s an advanced spell I might be able to manage,” I said.

  “Do I detect a note of uncertainty?” he teased. “Is this even possible?”

  I punched his arm. “I don't have any experience with this kind of spell outside of the classroom,” I explained. “The risk is that I manage to transform into the insect, but then can’t transfer myself back again afterward. It's not like you’re going to be much help.”

  Peter appeared unconcerned. “You're right. I wouldn't be much help.”

  I folded my arms. “I have a feeling you say that a lot.”

  “How about this?” he proposed. “You go first. That way, if something goes wrong, I'm still in my druid form and I’ll be sure not to step on you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I replied. I cleared my head and called upon my magic. I felt the energy surge inside me, awaiting my command. I focused on my body and its metamorphosis. Thankfully, this wasn’t the kind of spell that required a wand because I’d have nowhere to put it once the transformation was complete.

  It worked—I assumed—because I was suddenly staring at a blade of grass in front of my face. Getting to the house in ant form took much longer than I anticipated. As quickly as our tiny legs moved, there was still a lot of distance to cover between the sidewalk and the front door. Of course, as an ant, getting inside was easy. One small crack in the wall and we were in.

  Peter was the first to shift back into his druid form. His magic worked differently from witches and wizards. He seemed to be able to shift with a single thought rather than a magical process. That was one tick in the superior box, but I couldn't imagine there would be many more.

  It took me a couple of tries, but I finally managed to return to my witch form in order to search the house for clues. “You've been here before,” I said. “Where would you suggest we start?”

  Peter scanned the room. “To be honest, I haven't been here for a while. A lot of this stuff is new.” He picked up a vase on a console table. “I don't recognize some of these pieces. Holy Goddess of the Good Stuff.”

  “What's the problem?” Nothing looked amiss to me.
<
br />   Peter stroked the smooth exterior of the vase. “This baby isn't a replica. It’s worth a small fortune.”

  I crossed the room to scrutinize the base. “How can you tell?”

  He met my inquisitive gaze. “Smuggler, remember? You smuggle a fake one too many times and you're going to have to find a new career.”

  I cast a sidelong glance at him. “And would that be such a bad thing?”

  He set the vase back on the table. “I happen to like what I do.” We continued to tour the room, and Peter pointed out several more valuable objects interspersed with typical household decorations. You’d never know at a glance that Grantham Fraser had a treasure trove in his house. They were hidden in plain sight.

  “Where do you think he got the money for these?” I asked. And, more importantly, how did he acquire them?

  “I didn’t smuggle these for him, if that's what you're thinking,” Peter said defensively.

  “To be honest, that's not what I was thinking,” I said. “You'd have no reason to lie about that.”

  “Unless I really am the one who kidnapped him,” he said. “Maybe you're backing the wrong Pegasus.”

  I studied him closely. “I know you didn't have anything to do with it, Peter. I wouldn't be here with you now if I thought so.”

  He gave a curt nod before continuing to search the house. “I wish your compatriots were as open-minded as you.”

  “I think it depends on whether you’ve been pigeonholed or wrongly accused,” I said.

  He gave me a curious look. “And when have you ever been pigeonholed?”

  I opened a closet door to root around inside. “You call me princess. You don't think that's pigeonholing someone?”

  He shrugged. “But that's different from being labeled in a negative way.”

  If he didn't know about my family's history, then I didn’t want to tell him. “Don't you think it's odd that he lives in such a simple place, yet he has all these valuable items?”

  Peter's brow creased. “Fraser’s always hurting for cash. That was one of the reasons for our relationship. He was willing to cross certain ethical lines in order to get a bit of extra money.” He gave me a hard look. “But there’s still a line.”

  “Maybe he got involved with the wrong sort unintentionally?” I suggested. “Made a side deal with someone who decided to double-cross him?”

  “Maybe,” Peter used. He didn't sound convinced though.

  I moved into the bathroom and opened the cupboard. Most of the bottles were recognizable—headache potion, joint pain tonic, upset stomach potion. Nothing noteworthy.

  I continued down the hallway and stopped in front of a framed photograph on the wall of Professor Fraser with a little girl. She looked to be about seven.

  “He has a daughter?” I asked.

  Peter stood beside me. “Yeah, she’s not a particular fan of mine, though.”

  “Where is she? With her mother?” My pulse began to race at the thought of a little girl being caught up in this.

  Peter chuckled. “No, it’s an old photo. Lizzie isn’t a little girl anymore. Not even close.” Something in his tone suggested that he knew this intimately.

  “Where is she?” I asked. “We should talk to her.”

  “Sure, you do that.” He breezed past me and headed back toward the bathroom. “We should grab his comb from the sink.”

  “As a creepy keepsake?”

  He whirled around. “You’re a witch. Don’t you know how to do a locator spell?”

  I had no doubt that, between the sheriff’s office and the AMF, a few locator spells had already been attempted, but I wasn’t above trying to outdo the experts. In fact, I relished the challenge.

  “Ants can carry a lot more than their body weight, right?” I asked. I didn’t have the druid’s experience shifting into insects.

  Peter emerged from the bathroom and handed me the comb. “How about you tell me?”

  Chapter Seven

  As soon as we arrived back at the academy with the comb, I didn’t waste any time. I went straight to my room to ask for help. A locator spell would definitely yield a better result with the four of us channeling our power. I made Peter wait outside the building. I didn’t want to risk any smuggle-able items attracting his attention.

  “Don’t you think a locator spell would’ve already been attempted?” Bryn asked, when I announced my plan.

  “Probably about three times,” I replied. “But not by us, so it’s worth a try.”

  “She just wants to impress her new friend,” Mia said.

  “Can’t say I blame her,” Bryn said, peering out the window for a glimpse of Peter. “He’s pretty hot.”

  “He is not my friend,” I shot back. “I feel sorry for him, that’s all. He’s innocent and it’s our duty as future agents to protect him.”

  Bryn continued to ogle Peter. “Yeah, you don’t want any harm to come to that body. It would be a real shame.”

  I snapped my fingers. “You have a boyfriend, Bryn. Remember that scorching vampire you’re in a relationship with?”

  She turned away from the window and laughed. “Someone’s touchy.”

  “We need to think of Professor Fraser,” I said. “As long as everyone thinks Peter’s responsible, no one’s trying to figure out what really happened to him.”

  “True,” Bryn said. “Their investigation will be focused on getting answers from Peter, who doesn’t have any.”

  Bryn was all too familiar with that scenario. When she’d arrived at Spellslingers last year, she’d been a suspect in the murder of our Master-at-Arms and worked tirelessly to clear her name and apprehend the real killer.

  “Let’s go if we intend to do this,” Cerys said, gathering her rune rocks into a backpack. “We’re wasting valuable time standing around talking about it.”

  She had a point. We took what we needed for the spell and met Peter outside, where I made hasty introductions.

  “So, how does this work?” Peter asked. “You focus on that comb and bingo bango--we pinpoint his location?”

  I stared at him. “Do you really think it’s that simple?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What do I know?”

  “I’m beginning to ponder that exact question,” I said.

  “We’ll set up on the shore by the lake,” Cerys said. “That spot has the best energy for this time of day.”

  Peter shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  We placed a purple Spellslingers blanket on the shore and Cerys set out a circle of carefully selected rune rocks a few feet away.

  “What’s the blanket for?” Peter asked.

  “You, tenderfoot,” I said. “Have a seat. You need to stay outside the circle.”

  He dutifully dropped onto the blanket as my roommates and I took our positions inside the circle.

  “Earth witch brings the rocks,” Peter said. “What do you bring?”

  I smiled. “The best part. I bring the fire.” I summoned my magic and let the energy flow through me, straight from my fingertips. Instead of draining me the way other magic could, fire only served to invigorate me.

  Peter scooted back from his place outside the barrier as a small fire burst into existence in the middle of the circle. I felt a jolt of pleasure when I noticed his amazed expression. Although I refused to admit it out loud, part of me wanted to impress him.

  My roommates and I joined hands and began our incantation. Thanks to Mia, the wind picked up, blowing my hair in all directions. Of all the times not to wear my signature ponytail. I could do a quick hair spell, but that was pure vanity and I didn’t want to risk disrupting the more important work at hand.

  “I don’t see anything,” Cerys said, staring into the flames.

  “Me neither,” I said, disappointed. Although I knew the spell was a long shot, I still hoped.

  “It’s like he vanished from the universe,” Mia added. “There’s no trace of him.”

  “Obviously, a cloaking s
pell,” I said. “That’s the only explanation.”

  “But it still doesn’t tell us he’s been kidnapped,” Cerys said. “He could be using a cloaking spell on himself to stay hidden from someone.”

  “You sound like Chancellor Tilkin,” I said.

  “Fraser isn’t hiding,” Peter interjected from outside the circle. “I didn’t think so before and I really don’t think so after seeing his house.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Everything was as though he intended to come back at the end of the day.”

  “Maybe he set it up to fool whoever’s looking for him,” Mia said.

  Peter blew an exasperated breath. “Fraser’s not hiding. Trust me on this. I’ve known the guy a lot longer than any of you have.”

  “Then do you know why anyone would kidnap him?” Bryn asked.

  Peter’s gaze dropped to the ground. “If I did, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  A wave of compassion rolled over me. “We had to try. Now we can move on to the next idea.”

  “What’s that?” Bryn asked.

  “Turns out Fraser has a grown daughter,” I replied. “Isn’t that right, Peter?”

  His expression soured. “Lizzie won’t talk to me.”

  “We’ll figure out a way,” I said, rising to my feet.

  “Why can’t you talk to her?” Mia asked Peter.

  “Oh, I can talk to her,” he replied. "But I'm pretty sure she won't be interested in talking to me, if you get my meaning. Besides, I can't show up at her office.”

  I regarded him carefully. “Stars and stones, Zilla. What did you do?”

  “Nothing to do with her,” he insisted. “It's where she works. I told you she's a an advocate for the Liberty Project.”

  “What's that?” Bryn asked.

  “She represents criminals serving sentences that the organization deems to be unjust or inhumane,” Cerys replied.

  I smirked. “Seems to me you'd want to keep your foot in the door at a place like that,” I said. “Maybe you'll be in need of their services some day.”

  “Hardy ha ha,” he replied. “I try to stay below the radar of anyone involved in the legal field.”